Page 9 of Hold

Unless you count that rocking ass and the way he looked at you before.

“Holy shit!” she heard from the street. And five seconds later, Seth and David had walked back through the house into the kitchen.

“Is that your truck?” Seth asked Liam.

“Uh-huh,” she heard.

She looked out the window as Seth said, “Damn, dude, you should have told us!”

At the curb outside Thea’s house sat a 1950s, powder-blue behemoth of a pickup truck, with a hood like something out ofRebel Without a Cause.

“When would I bring her up?” Liam’s voice said. “You like old cars?”

“Uh, yah? Have you seen Seth’s hands?” David said. “He’s the mechanic, I’m the accountant. Erikson’s? On Route 9? It’s our dad’s garage.”

“What have you got under the hood?” Seth interrupted. Liam replied with a series of words Thea knew were English but made zero sense to her. The twins seemed impressed, judging by their low whistles, and Seth said, “That was what I heard. I thought it was just a truck going past with a sweet rumble, but it was you and that ’Vette engine.”

Thea looked out of the window again. The truck was nothing like a Corvette.

The twins came out of the kitchen and said goodbye to her again. Then they stood in front of the blue monster—actually, it was kind of adorable, like a big blue baby—and shook their heads a couple of times before getting in their own much more ordinary car and driving away.

Well, damn if she was going to go into the kitchen until Liam came out. She arranged the plates and wineglasses in the middle of the coffee table and opened her textbook, pretending to read.

He finally reappeared in the doorway. His jeans were wet, and there were smudges of dirt on his pale-green T-shirt. Which, she noticed, he filled out quite nicely.

“Um,” Thea said. “Thanks?”

He nodded and grunted. “Waste of water.” Obviously whatever joviality he’d had with the twins wasn’t about to extend to her.

Thea bristled. “I know. I meant to get to it—”

“Not with the state those tools were in.”

Was that smudge on his T-shirt… mold? “Oh my God, did you go in the basement?”

He shrugged. “You should treat your tools better.”

Thea went into the kitchen, Liam making room for her. All Gabe’s tools were cleaned off and laid out on a kitchen towel on the table. The floor was empty of all the detritus from the cabinet. The last of the June evening sun shone through the back door and glinted off the clean tools and shiny sink.

The first thing Thea felt, and the scariest, was relief. Someone had helped. Someone had done something she couldn’t do. She hadn’t been alone. For this moment, the millstone that was this house was not her burden alone.

Then, fast on the heels of that feeling, was terror. She backed up until she hit the refrigerator, knocking off a few magnets. “I’m not interested,” she said past a tight throat.

Liam, who had folded his arms while she examined his handiwork, unfolded them again. “What?”

“I—I’m not interested. In a relationship.” Relying on someone, the way she had Gabriel? Aw, hell no. She wished Liam had left the damn faucet alone.

He shook his head, moving away from the table he’d leaned against. “Jesus, woman, I just fixed the faucet. Don’t flatter yourself.”

Thea’s cheeks burned. “S—Sorry,” she stammered. “I just… want to be clear.”

“I’m clear,” he said, spreading his hands.

“Thank you,” she said again. “For the faucet.”

He rolled his eyes and went out to the living room. Picking up his backpack, he said, “Think you can let me come back to the group next week without worrying I’ll jump you?”

Her cheeks actually hurt, she was blushing so hard. “Yes, fine. Goodbye.”

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